


something a little unlike

by parttimeroses



Series: be here, so I may stand [1]
Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Alternate Universe - Basketball, Experimental, F/F, prose-poetry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2020-03-04 20:59:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18820615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parttimeroses/pseuds/parttimeroses
Summary: inspired by Anne Carson's style of prose-poetry. experimental. and basketball AU.yes. this is so far out of left field it's not even in the same ballpark anymore.





	1. synapse

**Author's Note:**

> I'm in the middle of reading Decreation, just re-read The Glass Essay, dreaming of The Autobiography of Red. (Also have been listening to Bon Iver's 22, a million and want to be brave enough to post something weird.)
> 
> I'm writing a prose version of this very very slowly while being pulled in every conceivable direction, but this is essentially how I brainstormed the AU. This is also entirely unedited and I'm terrified of sharing it. 
> 
> I super SUPER want to talk about meta things in this universe that I 'borrowed' from real sports narratives, in like, the most PAINFUL emotional detail. But I digress...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael reflecting, 2019, before the season begins.

 

one memory

  
you hold out your hand and you ask  
‘will you follow me into the fire’  
and i say yes.  
every time, yes.  
  
and i don’t have  
this dream every night  
only most  
only when i’m missing you most  
  
i hold my hand to my forehead, sweating  
still on eastern time  
it’s three in the morning so it must be noon where you are,  
backwards in time.  
  
i’m thinking of your face,  
staring at the darkness, the changing shadows of the ceiling  
i can hear your voice, in the back of my mind  
your laugh an echo i can almost touch if i close my eyes and let it  
take me  
  
i go backwards in time too,  
in those missing moments where i let myself disappear  
i have seen so many train platforms, so many bus seats,  
felt so many plane takeoffs  
that i can sink into memory, at will  
like a magic trick  
(have i ever told you that i can do magic?)  
  


i remember:  
  


_i._ you called me your love once,  
punch drunk on celebration,  
tipsy on the better champagne  
we weren’t alone in the room,  
yet you leaned into my side  
you put your warm hand in mine  
and you said  
if this were the end, you won’t be mad  
that this was the true testament  
that no one else has done this  
accomplished as much as  
we, together  
_together_ , my love  
and that is _enough_  
  


_ii._ you admitted your impatience,  
on more than one occasion  
freely, unexpectedly,  
out of character,  
how strange.  
you said:  
you said you missed Spain.  
and it sounded like pulling teeth  
you missed the beach in the winter.  
grimacing  
you missed playing in that part of Europe,  
by the water, you know? it’s  
different there.  
you had this distant look in your eyes,  
distorted by the miles and the video call  
and i frowned  
and you knew  
and you sighed, like you were put upon, but not quite  
and you said  
_‘i miss **you** Michael, it’s not_  
_the same’_  
  


_iii._ i feel like we’ve been back to back so many time _s_  
and yet, i only remember that one time.  
sitting on the floor in the Dallas airport,  
midnight layover from London, somehow  
the gate announcements, the arrivals and departures  
the noise and lights flickering and dimming  
to my senses  
as you, pushed your shoulders back,  
solid and still,  
warm unto mine  
your head tilted back to rest against mine  
‘ _i don’t think i’ve ever been this tired in my life’_  
and we both chuckled  
because they playoffs were right on the horizon  
non stop  
‘ _unlike the flight_ ’  
and then we laughed  
and you turned around, caught my eye,  
leaned your forehead to the nape of my neck  
and i forgot how to breathe

  
  
_iv._ i have been on the knife’s edge of saying  
i love  
you for so many years  
and it’s killing me now  
now 

  
_v._ you don’t call me often but when you do  
i sit and  
wring my hands where you can’t see them  
i can’t keep myself at bay but i  
_must_

  
and the memory shatters on this loop;  
_my love, i’ve missed you, i’m so_  
_tired of not being home_  
no other- no dialogue  
and i sink longer than i  
have learned how to swim  
but i still forget  
  
but nevermind  
i have always been good at holding  
my breath

 

  
  
two hope among displacement

  
you call in January for my birthday  
my 1 pm to your 10 pm  
i ask you about coaching and you say it’s fine  
you ask me about shanghai and i say it’s fine  
  
is this truly  
how far we’ve gotten  
almost eight years between us  
_shared_  
for just _fine_  
and passing comments  
  
i want to scoop us up and move us  
to collect some signs of life  
are we really so far gone  
so resigned to this  
_this whatever this is_  
that we accept no motive to change  
  
we say goodbye  
and i feel the tears streaming down my face  
  
oh Philippa  
how i miss you  
how the days go so slowly  
a different gravity without being in your orbit.  
  
i would tear the stars up  
shake the heavens like a snow globe  
quake the mountains  
stop the tides  
i would  
  
but now  
i must hold my hands close, wrapped around this kindling  
to offer shelter  
to keep this little sign of hope  
this ember glowing  
that i will not  
_i will not_  
give up on what we had  
  
that when the time comes we will both stand tall and seize the moment  
the opportunity  
to be together  
to stay.  
  


 

  
three time

  
i know of the pause  
when time puts itself on hold  
half a second stopped  
feels like too long a time  
  
you blink once and  
the ball’s out of hand  
arching slowly in the air  
being guided by the centrifuge of earth  
  
i swivel on my heels  
to not look  
bench on their feet  
‘three’ in the air  
  
we made it that year  
three and all  
bum rushed by the whole team screaming  
and then i was left with just you  
carried by the sea to part  
at the other end of the court  
  
you were there like  
fire, electricity, the whole force of nature  
and its counterparts  
you were there like  
you were  
that look in your eyes i swear  
Philippa it seared me through my whole body  
and i have stood so tall since  
  
and then you turned on your heel flinching  
and then you told me you were leaving  
severing  
from me  
uncauterized, i fled  
clutching and shaking  
back to where we were  
wandering the beach  
with the haunting of you to my left  
  
did you think that i would not notice  
the loss?  
is this the pause?  
  
i go through my revisions  
a list of all of my  
misgivings, all of these little hurts  
that i bestowed upon you  
like a wasp furious in its confusion  
  
i thought; i was my worst at the start  
i was: no qualms to lash out  
venomous in my haste  
but time has let me tame my disorientation  
and well, where am i now?  
where i am to go  
as my anchor has gone missing?  
  
i have so many more questions  
in that  
i wish i could know you  
as i know for myself

 

  
  
four forward

  
but first, i must go back  
to the very beginning  
to the first time i stood on the practice court  
and you somehow,  
caught me in the crowd  
  
it wasn’t being struck by lightning  
it was a slow  
_slow_  
blooming  
  
i barely noticed then  
i barely knew it then  
  
you always  
-the first thing i can recall about you-  
have that _spark_ in your eye  
flint and tinder  
the very catchings of a fire  
that start, that potentiality  
  
you held out your hand and  
i convinced myself that i would  
not be mesmerized as  
everyone else seemed to be  
for, you’re just a person  
a great, incredible, potent person  
but fallible as the rest of us  
  
you raised an eyebrow at the strength of my grip  
but it was not a challenge  
just a setting of expectation  
because if i were ever too weak to carry on  
so would the world cull me from this  
( _Sarek said; be tough, be vigilant, the league will be brutal back_ )  
we both nodded in acknowledgement  
and you  
smiled at me  
before turning to sit in the stands  
( _but in what? structure. balance of powers. politics._  
_the things that choke me at the throat when i sleep._ )  
you watched me the whole way through,  
i could feel it  
( _not; let your colleagues guide you, build your strength in all ways,_  
_allow yourself to love, in depth_ )  
  
it wasn’t about chances after all  
not worthiness,  
not belonging  
just learning, just curiosity  
  
i stood, that first time,  
expecting a hail of fire  
  
but you gave me the sun at blazing dawn  
  
(and i hope i gave you what you wanted.  
if you wanted for anything at all.)

 

  
  
interlude

  
i am:  
two weeks in stasis  
surrounded, entirely  
never alone, in the sea  
  
you call me and i  
_say it_  
just as you hang up  
knowing you won’t hear me  
praying you do  
wishing you can already tell  
dreaming that nothing will ever change from the way  
it was before  
_i opened my mouth and told the truth to myself instead_  
  
i count:  
my breathing  
the minutes  
clouds in the sky, tapping on my armrest, train tracks rumbling  
the imperceptible  
  
waiting is the worst game i’ve learned how to play  
sit with your eyes open  
put it out of your mind  
just- _let it_  
let it  
let it tear me asunder  
  
i plan:  
the flights, the layovers  
the drive, the meetings  
the deadlines, the obligations  
  
what to come back to  
the familiar faces  
another run at  
another season of  
_in your prime_  
  
(grainy video footage of you in 99,  
jaw set,  
fists clenched.  
  
that shot of you in ’05  
end of the season in a bright gold jersey,  
at attention, hands behind your back.  
  
just look at the  
way you’ve always been.)

 

  
  
  
five momentum

  
i wish i could tell you how it feels  
to knowingly be placed  
  
yet here you are  
i see you before you see me and  
see that  
as an act of mercy from the universe  
  
and she’s telling me  
_woman, steel yourself_  
_this love will_  
_kick out your knees and you must_ —  
  
here you are  
_gird your heart_  
  
reminding me of what i hold so dear in my memory  
the shape of your shoulders,  
the turn of your head,  
the length of your neck  
the sound of your voice  
my name on your tongue  
  
and i  
am at my knees  
praying at your altar  
for a little of your mercy now that you’re-  
  
here you are  
_magnanimous, all i can see_  
  
facing me,  
my name in your voice sounds so soothing  
and i’m trying not to cry in front of all these strangers  
because i want to _reach for you_  
_and hold on to you_  
your face in my hands,  
breathing the same tempo  
  
letting you look into my soul and see  
i have been here all along  
and  
_where have you been?_  
  
here you are  
and  
_i will always forgive you_  
_i will always open the door_  
_i will always let you in_

 

 

  
six years

  
i imagine wind up toys  
two turns to make them go  
plod along in mechanical unison  
step by step by step  
and off the ledge  
  
  
i imagine time,  
still and always  
i imagine memory  
tangible and held in my hands  
i imagine  
and i forget  
  
memory is a hard thing to summon when you’re wanting for it  
i taught myself that a while back  
oh i can’t remember when it was anymore  
when you held my face in your hands and we  
couldn’t look away from each other  
  
just the moving parts  
clicking along but  
off course, off kilter  
  
we would both be fine  
i thought to myself  
  
and we would both come back changed  
and somehow, that was the unexpected

 

  
  
seven fixed

  
and there it is, the crescendo  
higher, still  
flying through my faith  
a system of weather  
clouding my heart again  
  
my feet in the rut  
as i’m trying to turn  
  
profile is my best feature  
when i’m not looking for you  
but i’m being told that this is maybe too much  
( _michael, are you alright_ )  
my mood is perpetual  
rain on the windshield  
lauryn hill on the radio  
‘ _said you’d be there for me’_  
  
damn though, we never said it out loud  
  
i want to jump into the pool  
i want to make that wave  
that ‘yes, _yes,_ i want it’  
don’t you think it would be nice if we  
backpedal down the court  
wind that videotape to the beginning  
  
i have so many questions  
remember me?  
  
i’m starving

 

 


	2. the howling blind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> philippa, 2016-2019, she isn't lost, no.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm trying to examine her internal wranglings before i move forward into the next section of 'part of the journey'. It's some of what has been holding me back, as it's a very long chapter (lol 6k outline) and i'm still working on it. i absolutely will not half-ass it, i'm too emotionally invested. 
> 
> This, however, is barely edited, written at 2 am. Which, as the meme goes: stay up late and feel the secret dark things.

one _isometric  
_

  
i lay us out on the map  
as we move like chess pieces  
tracing behind the path in chalk  
but it wears, thin  
dust to dust  
and i do too  
  
i lose track of my days for the fog of it  
i am still waiting for my smoke signals to reach you  
you can’t see me any more  
you can’t hear me from here  
  
or my voice is too weak  
or my hands have gone missing  
or my will has been tamped  
and i can’t quite push the walls to crumble  
  


  
  
two _age_

  
it drags on, carrying its feet behind it  
a bag of belongings  
an old wound  
digging nails into the soft giving dirt and pulling pulling  
  
i go inch by inch  
there’s not much to examine here  
no microscope too fine  
  
i cannot turn as fast  
go as far  
reach the same goals the same way  
the same flight the same vigor  
  
youth is elusive, like dawn in the winter  
and here, i make the mark  
barely  
here is the line that i cannot force myself to cross  
for sinking  
to my knees  
might be the end  
  
  
  
  
three _reversal_

  
i missed you in your gap year  
you blew away like the wind  
and i was the paperweight  
  
see,  
if i dig my feet in  
any further  
i will  
leave you  
(again)  
  
  


  
  
four _laws of physics_

  
don’t you get in the habit of reigning me in  
just because you  
can and i am pliable somehow  
only for you to mould  
  
_‘stay’_  
_‘come with me’_  
or  
_‘this is halfway’_  
_‘are you going too?’_  
  
alright.  
i give.  
i will stop my own fight.  
  
i step out, bruised and mangled  
and you can’t see  
curious as you are  
you can’t see why it’s so hard  
to just say yes at the start  
  


  
  
five _illusion_

  
i imagine you imperfect  
i hope that you can tell  
  
time stopped being linear the moment  
your face knocked me off my path  
  
isn’t that just strange and telling?  
  
i can recite, backwards forwards  
all the rules  
the regulations  
i can count the seconds up until the final whistle goes  
and then  
and then  
what i am left with  
  
you turn  
and i follow suit  
opposite and equal  
until we disappear ourselves  
  
  
  
i remember how to track,  
and how well i did it  
when we were side to side  
  
no, not bookends  
only pieces of the board.  
  
but you, the rook  
gears turning in the ways you saw fit  
always for a curve  
a mastery of your own devices  
  
and i have been the tower  
my path laid out before, after  
  
the lightning crashed and i have left my vital parts  
skin puckering red and true to flesh:  
that i am fallible.  
isn’t that a weight to carry?  
  
you go freely,  
and i would never begrudge you  
even if you forget me  
even if you forget to say goodbye  
  


  
  
six _the hold_

  
i have sought out  
i have wanted  
  
i dream and i stumble  
  
my body grows inside of itself  
tear and tissue  
layer to layer,  
worn out sheets and a new comforter  
  
i make this bed every day,  
and i am still older  
  
see,  
there are only stars above you, michael  
and this too will take you away  
  
i see you in the light, so distant  
i hold on to you,  
i capture the words in the back of my throat and quell them  
like the frightening things they are  
minor beasts that struggle against my best will  
to be set free  
  
_you will be better without me_  
and

  
_i cannot let you go_  
  
  


  
if the darkness wanders in  
like the lost at the gate  
i will let it  
  
and if the memories serve me  
though they are not right  
i will stand taller,  
in disguise  
  
there is no beckoning now,  
to come  
to witness  
there is nothing left to strip away  
  
yes, this is who i have always been:  
free-spirited but ambitious  
wounded and lashing  
  
i scream and command  
i provoke attention  
i am here,  
there is nothing to change  
  
i move on,  
i remain the same  
  


  
  
  
seven _the act_  
  
i watch my step now  
toes to the wire  
waiting to open my arms and tip  
one way or another  
  
you,  
at the end  
with your back turned  
the stretch of you,  
your spine your shoulders  
your calming hands  
(i have met the lines of you, before)  
  
me at the start of the suspension bridge  
the metal nipping at my heels, the angry dogs  
  
i search in the sunlight, as the world spins  
and spills round  
  
i lean forward  
i almost fall  
  


  
  
eight _pentance_  
  
i sense your return will leave you grounded  
guarded at the key,  
trembled by a loss.  
  
i can only hope it was me.  
and that i can undo;  
bring a fresh bandage and stitch with bony knuckles  
and a steady hand  
  
you did not go the same way i did.  
  
so i hope you don’t take this the way i intend it:  
with my own inconsistent strides toward the past  
with every fiber, twisting, aching  
with my eyes focusing on the etch of your face  
  
there could never be anything here for me,  
but the closure,  
i swear—  
  
do i dare it?  
  
~~no,~~  
~~i’m not brave, like you~~


	3. chronology

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael enters the 2019 season, skeptical. No one else seems to notice the difference in Philippa but her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a little bit darker of a tone, but I wanted it to follow the show's 'change in Philippa Georgiou' thing (lmao, _okay_ ) and explore via Michael.
> 
> (I definitely slipped in some WNBA references in 'seven'; San Antonio Silver Stars became Dallas Wings after the team affiliated with the Spurs folded... however many years back that was. It makes me think on how I kind of unintentionally modeled Philippa's career trajectory to kind of follow Becky Hammon's: 'franchise player' for the Silver Stars -don't talk to NY Liberty fans about this though- to coaching NBA.)

 

 

 

one earthly

or otherwise  
the bullet in my wound  
my flesh to the air  
free and crowned  
  
i don’t wave this flag  
stained and constant  
for just anyone to see  
but myself  
  
and perhaps you  
in the periphery  
(if you’re daring to look back now,  
if you dare look me in the eyes as I wait for you)  
  
always walking, always going  
always leaving

  
and if you’ve left me behind, once  
twice,  
the third time worn on the pads of my fingers expectantly  
don’t you do it again  
don’t you come back again  
to do it over  
well, i don’t know what i would do if I couldn’t reach you  
  
no word or favor  
blank as the walls now  
of your temporary home  
  
so little of you has changed  
that i can’t recognize what you have become, underneath

 

i hold a tune only for the echo  
bouncing back at me  
to let me look, without fooling myself  
  
if i can hear me,  
i don’t need to listen for you any longer  
not even  
when you finally speak  
  
my chin turned up,  
to go looking for your light  
even as I angle my head away  
you’ll blind me, even if my eyes are closed  
  
  
  


 

two resonance  
  
i’ve climbed the brick  
to find an empty other side  
 _oh, but that was years ago_  
and i fall down the rabbit hole,  
chasing after a call and answer  
of my own making  
  
see, it was only my own voice  
pleasant and distorted  
wishing, dreaming  
faded  
  
worn, for you  
  
  
  


 

three amphitheater  
  
the step i missed is so sudden  
that the others grasp for my hand  
when i don’t feel any of the sensation  
  
i still say your name  
when i close my eyes,  
and in the thick of it  
  
i still see you  
in the question  
of how i have gotten here  
how i went on my own to stand at the top of the hill  
that i scaled to escape the reach of your shadow  
stretched from the other side of the country  
ghosting its touch over my shoulder  
  
they ask ‘why do you fight’  
they tell me ‘you have nothing to prove’  
not anymore  
and ‘here you are now, so fraught with achievement’  
yes, nothing can tether me now  
  
they smile, shake their heads  
as i say ‘of course’  
with shock, not adherence,  
so easy to feign  
  
i don’t say ‘but i am still in love’  
i won’t tell them you’re a stranger  
  
i don’t say your name  
in the same tone  
that i save for myself  
when i’m caught up in you most

 

 

  
  
four stirring  
  
if i leap to my feet  
having grown weary

 

if i hold your shoulders

 

if i touch you again  
steady, solid, untrue to the visage of a decade  
of wear and tear  
of this image everyone else has held in the rafters  
the number 19, never to be used again  
not at home, not there

what would i do if i told you  
you loved me  
( _once? only?_ )

 

if i trace the lines of your smile  
if i look for you at the end of the hall  
  
if i tear down the inopportune  
will you come for me?  
  
will you level the part of you  
that you have buried  
so deep  
in the earth?

 

 

  
  
  
  
five of day  
  
as we keep circling each other  
i’m afraid that we’ll never speak  
  
when was the last time  
that you have left yourself alone  
with me?

i. I think of phone calls,  
no, that’s been too long  
the pause at two ends  
the rift is no distance at all  
  
but i couldn’t feel you with me  
even when you were there  
  
i come up for air after  
  
i drag us to dry land,  
heels sinking in the sand  
  
you, absent as the tide  
you, expansive as the ocean  
you, as dark as the night  
you, as i dig in for footing  
  
  
  
ii. i think of myself in the passenger’s seat  
when you took care of me that one time  
( _once? only?_ )  
i think of looking to my left  
i think of the light in your hair  
the traffic that day  
glazed in metallic with  
the taste in my mouth  
the pills for the pain  
the searing in my ankle  
my achilles  
  
i couldn’t walk,  
so you stopped  
  
then i ran so fast  
and you couldn’t let yourself follow me

what would you do if _I_ leave?  
petulant, posing questions  
so young and stark against your silent presence  
finally sapped for comment  
finally shocked enough to be rooted in the ground

 

iii. i think of a scattering  
leaves in the fall  
pennies at the bottom of the fountain  
kicking at the water below  
dipped and diving  
no change of clothes, no wonder to the world  
no answers but your own

you’re still the artist  
i’m searching for your subject-  
motive and projection  
kicking through the archive  
tearing pages to the hurricane  
  
i will find what it is that brought you here  
( _and i will tear it down myself if you do not tell me,_  
 _you must, you cannot let me know_ )  
  
the changes in the technique don’t surprise me  
they didn’t, not even at first  
you paint with fire, as the day goes on  
ink that never fades  
rust and ochre  
  
not bravado  
but as loud, as calculated  
a sight beyond motion  
a clarity that I also know,  
two steps to my one  
always so familiar to be behind

your art becomes so exact  
the gold in your eyes so warm  
the command of your voice  
for the listeners in the eaves  
that seem to gather all on their own.  
  
  
  
  


 

interlude fourth quarter push  
  
i’m here now  
and i’m counting on you to go away  
as you do,  
without a voice to your mouth  
simply motion  
  
you’ve never been able to tell me  
why you’ve gotten so good at hiding  
so i’m left to my own conspiration,  
to pull straws at a conclusion  
that’s the same every time  
  
 _we’re both so afraid_  
  
and i want to look that burden in the eye  
and i won’t move backwards anymore  
because it’s struck  
and i don’t want the antidote  
i don’t want the blood to stop  
  
because if i am here, shouting back at the dust  
then so are you  
and don’t you hide from it any longer  
  
come and face me, Philippa  
i have trained my lungs  
i can keep down enough air to scream the first  
thing that comes to mind

 

  
  
  
six chronology, or lack of  
  
i transfix myself  
counting down into the milliseconds  
so i don’t give you the chance to put your hands close  
or change my mind  
  
you pick up old habits like a dropped pen  
 _here, it’s yours_  
here, it’s been all along  
  
you dissect my present and  
i came prepared with my own scalpel

You said you weren’t leaving the west coast.  
 _How has it been, on the other side of the world?_  
I heard you’ve gone back to PT.  
 _I saw you limping at practice, is it a reinjury?_

it’s not malicious,  
this careful interrogation  
of one fear to another,  
chasing each other around the bend,  
until the start is unfamiliar  
  
i don’t see the big deal  
and i’m taking bets with myself,  
that you don’t either

it’s not the press of knuckles,  
hiding my hands until i’m outside, facing the door across the hall  
i only open my palms, once  
i return but i want to bleed  
i will if  
it proves to you that i’m real

 

  
  
  
seven nerves  
  
meet me in the morning  
after a spell, that you whisper  
about sprains or strains or  
i’m too tired  
to know what even I’m trying to imply

( _Is it fear or- of reinjury_ -  
Which is worse?  
 _Am i asking?_  
Am i telling you?)

meet me downstairs, in the lobby  
tuck your hair behind your ear and  
tell me that this is just like before-  
San Antonio, now Dallas  
heat or humidity  
  
-that i am different  
i know it-  
  
same wings with a new framework  
flight, or construction  
waiting for an updraft to stay afloat

  
i am bound to my own body  
like a lion in a cage

  
i can tell you the place is not the same:  
you’ve never been here before  
squinting up at you  
looking down at me softly, betraying your practiced expression  
in the same old sunlight, filtering through  
brand new windows.

 

we sit, facing one another  
in plain sight  
so tightly bound to this image that everyone else seems to keep  
that we linger in the force of orbit  
(or is it habit, tell me)  
because we knew each other from the start  
so of course  
 _of course_

the endings split under my fingertips  
i think they’ve died off, slowly, of the shock  
yet here we are  
cold table under my outstretched hands  
hoping for the patch of warmth where your coffee cup,  
where your hands  
used to be  
  
here we are, anew  
here we are, in the corridor of the airport

(i’ve yelled your name until my voice went hoarse, in the memory  
i’m not doing it again)

but god help me if i don’t move  
i was made for it  
this time, Philippa  
this time, i have nowhere left to go  
  
so we return to sit side by side  
in the next terminal, the next after  
barely a word or an inch between us

because what are we, if not  
comfort seeking creatures  
thinking the chain is a thread  
red as blood, lost in the day


End file.
